


Purple

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge: Pooh Bear Challenge, Drama, First Times, M/M, Romance, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A legacy from Jim's aunt includes a small purple teddy bear with a special meaning for both Jim and Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple

**Disclaimer:** Nobody belongs to me, not  
Jim, not Blair, not Simon, not even the teddy bear. Everybody belongs to  
Pet Fly, except the bear. I'm not sure who he belongs to, he just wandered  
in of his own accord.  
 **Date Produced:** 29 Sep 1997  
 **Rating:** G, m/m  
 **Note:** //Father's voice// /Mother's voice/

##  Purple  
by Lady Dagger

**August 1973**

James Joseph Ellison was having a very bad day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, his brother was laughing, and he was in the one place that he felt safe enough to remember that he was only eleven years old, but tomorrow his father was coming to take him home. All year long he looked forward to spending the summer with Aunt Jane and from the moment he arrived, he dreaded the day he had to go home, to his father. 

Aunt Jane understood. Sometimes she'd talk to him about the way things used to be, before his mother disappeared. She tried to explain why his father said and did the things he did, but it didn't really make any sense. He hadn't done anything wrong and it wasn't fair that he should be punished for something that his mother had done, especially when no one would tell him what that was. James tried to understand, but it just wasn't right. 

So, here he sat on a warm and bright summer day, under a dark gray cloud, watching his brother play and wondering why the world he lived in was so different than the one his brother inhabited. Granted, Stephen hardly remembered their mother at all anymore, Dad saw to that. No more pictures, no stories, no mentioning her at all in his hearing, and he had very good hearing. //If I ever hear you say that name again, boy, I'll beat you bloody!// All of the things that she loved were gone: her great-grandmother's vase, her grandparents wedding portrait, the desk her father made in shop when he was a boy, the quilt her mother made depicting all the major events in her daughter's life, including the birth of her two sons. All gone, just like she was. No more birthday parties, no more Christmas trees, no more fantastical costumes for Halloween. //Stop being a baby.// 

He missed so many things: fresh baked bread, his mother's scent, the feel of her hair on his face as he snuggled into a warm hug, Mickey Mouse pancakes, Christmas carols in summer, roses, purple, fairy tales, and Santa Claus. //Santa Claus isn't real. I paid for those presents and you better enjoy them 'cause you're not getting any more.// No one called him 'Jamie' in a gentle voice soft with affection. //Jamie's a baby name. Your name is Jim. That's a name a man can wear with pride.// 

He watched the van pull into the park, brightly painted with pictures of dragons, butterflies, birds, and flowers in rich colors: yellow, orange and purple. Lots of purple. In butterfly wings, orchids and a dragon's eyes he found flashes of his mother's laughter, dancing in the rain, and could almost hear her voice. /I love you, Jamie. You're a wonderful son and I'm proud to be your mother./ The people who got out were as colorful as the van: long hair, long skirts, frayed blue jeans. //Damned long-haired, hippy freaks. They're what's wrong with the world today. Preaching peace and love. They don't exist, boy, and don't you forget it. You have to fight for what you want, to earn it and to keep it.// 

They seemed so happy, like nothing had ever hurt them. He knew that wasn't true, but somehow they managed to be happy anyway. James envied them that. There were a few children amongst them, darting about, laughing and at ease with everyone. He couldn't tell which child belonged to which adult. They seemed to belong to everyone. //You belong to me, Jim. Your mother doesn't love you. She doesn't want you and she never did.// One child in particular, probably no more than four or five, seemed determined to explore on his own. As James watched, the boy set off as fast as his short little legs could carry him, bounding from flower to flower, chasing butterflies and bees, curly hair shining in the sunlight like a halo. /Oh, Jamie, isn't this a wonderful day! I wish it never had to end./ 

Darting this way and that, unmindful of his direction, unafraid of what he might find, the child continued his explorations and soon left the rest of his party far behind. In the midst of organizing their picnic, it was easy to momentarily lose track of one small boy. James watched as a woman with long, dark hair began to search for the missing child. She was soon joined by the rest of the group. //You do as I say, boy, or you'll be punished.// 

"Baby, where are you?" 

James glanced over to where his brother played, under Aunt Jane's watchful eye. /He's just a little boy, Jamie, keep an eye on him./ He got up and headed in the direction the child had gone. 

It really was a beautiful day, the sun warm on his face, the scent of cut grass and flowers intermingling on the light breeze that ruffled his hair. He walked into the woods that surrounded the park and continued walking for about twenty minutes. He couldn't see or hear the child and yet, he had no doubts about where he had gone. /Believe in yourself, Jamie. I do./ He found the boy, crouched down in a meadow, attention riveted on a resting butterfly, well-loved bear clutched in his right arm. As he approached, the boy looked up with bright blue eyes and beckoned him forward, finger pressed to his lips. 

"Sssh. Isn't she beautiful?" he asked, pointing at the butterfly. 

James crouched beside the child and agreed. "Yes, she is. Don't you think it's time you got back? Your mother's very worried." 

"Why?" The child's brow wrinkled in concentration as he tried to figure out why his mother would be worried about him when he was so obviously fine. 

"She doesn't know where you are. She thinks you're lost." 

"I'm here," he stated with undeniable logic. "Oh, look! She's flying! Let's follow her!" 

"No," James grabbed hold of the boy's arm before he could take off after the butterfly. "Stay here and talk to me." 

The boy's intense blue gaze focused on James' face. "About what?" 

"Why don't we head back to the van?" 

"No, I'm not done yet. I'm exploring! You can come with, if you want." 

"Who's your friend?" James asked, tugging gently on the bear's ear. //No son of mine is going to sleep with a teddy bear! That's for babies!// 

"Dog." 

"But it's a bear." 

"I wanted a dog, but Mom says we move too much." 

"I didn't know there were purple bears." /I love this color. It's so rich and bright and happy./ 

"Silly," the boy reached over and patted James' cheek. "Bears can be all colors, but purple's best." 

"Why is purple best?" //I'm sick and tired of seeing that damned fru- fru color everywhere I look. Get rid of it.// 

"'Cause it's hard to find and that makes it special. Mom says that rare things should be treasured. Didn't you know that?" 

"I haven't found many things worth being treasured." 

"You're not looking in the right place. You have to look in here," he said, tapping James' chest, above his heart. "That's the only way to know if its really special. Didn't your mom teach you that?" 

"I don't have a mother." 

The child tilted his head to the side as he thought about that, the breeze ruffling his hair and causing the sunlit curls to dance around his head like flames. "Everybody has a mom." 

James suppressed the urge to jerk away and leave him to find his own way back. "She left me!" 

The boy took a step closer, standing between James' knees as he knelt in the meadow. He leaned in, forehead to forehead and, placing his left hand on James' cheek, he whispered, "Sometimes moms have to leave, but it doesn't mean she doesn't love you. My mom leaves me too, sometimes, but she always comes back and Dog stays with me while she's gone, so I don't forget that she loves me. Do you have a Dog?" 

James swallowed hard. It felt weird letting the boy so close, almost like a hug. //You're too soft, boy. I'll have to toughen you up.// "No, everything's gone, even the stuff she bought us." 

The boy straightened, frowned and offered, "You can have my Dog." 

"No. That's very nice, but he's yours. You should keep him." 

"You should have one and Mom can get me another one, before she leaves again. I want you to have Dog, so you don't forget. Here." Dog was pressed against James' chest and, when he made no effort to take the bear, the child picked up his left hand, placed it against the bear and pressed. "He's yours now. He'll take good care of you. Can I ride back on your shoulders?" 

"Sure," James picked him up and sat him on his shoulders, putting his own arms across the boy's shins, Dog held firmly in his left hand. As James walked back through the woods, the boys hands were on his head, fingers playing in his hair. 

"You're tall. I hope someday I'm as tall as you." 

"You will be." 

* * *

**October 1997**

Jim Ellison was having a bad day. He hadn't seen the sun in what felt like years. He had stepped in a pothole this morning and gotten his sock, shoe and pant-leg soaked. They still weren't dry. He would have just taken them off, but bare feet were against the rules, the furnace wasn't working, and he really didn't feel like testing Simon's tolerance today. The man had been growling for weeks now, getting grumpier every day. He'd really let Ryf have it this morning, and Jim was in no hurry to be on the receiving end of a similar performance. 

So, here he sat with one cold and clammy foot, wearing his coat, scarf around his neck, trying to type a report with his gloves on, wishing Blair were here. Somehow nothing seemed as bad when Blair was around, not even Simon. But today was Tuesday and he had classes and office hours all day. Tuesday's were always bad. One of these days, he really needed to tell Blair how he felt, but not yet. He wasn't ready to risk the best friend he'd ever had for something he didn't even fully understand yet. 

Finally! Five o'clock. Damn! His night to cook and there was nothing at home. They were out of everything. He hated shopping, especially at five o'clock. Too many people, wearing too much of too many scents, all rushing around in different directions, in each others way, but most importantly, in his way. Preventing him from getting home, to Blair. He fought his way through the crowd, grabbing the essentials: beer, eggs for breakfast, salad stuff for Blair, steak. Today definitely called for large hunks of red meat, seared on the outside and bloody on the inside. Blair would just have to accept it. He cooked, his choice, and he needed meat. 

Pulling into his parking space, Jim had no sooner grabbed the groceries than the entire sky opened up, drenching him to the skin in the few moments it took him to get to the building. Perfect! Squelching his way up the stairs, leaving a little damp trail behind him, Jim made his way to the loft. Inside, he tossed his keys in the basket by the door and headed for the kitchen. He quickly put everything away, checking the time. Good, he had time for a quick shower before starting dinner. Blair usually didn't get home until almost seven. 

Jim showered, short but hot, toweled himself dry and pulled on an old pair of sweats. He sighed with contentment. Warm and dry, vastly underrated sensations. Now to start dinner. Jim headed toward the kitchen and noticed something he'd missed when he came in earlier, a box on the table in front of the couch. There was an envelope on top with his name on it, in his brother's hand. What would Stephen have left for him? 

Thanks to Blair, his relationship with his brother was much better. They were learning to be friends, to trust each other again. He remembered the look on Stephen's face when he'd given him a key to the loft, 'just in case.' He'd been so pleased and Blair had looked proud of him for doing it. While he was glad Stephen was pleased, he'd do almost anything to put that look in Blair's eyes and to keep it there. Jim opened the envelope and read the letter. 

> Jim
> 
> I'm sorry to just leave this and go, but I was clearing out an old storage locker before heading out of town and found this. I had completely forgotten about it. As much as I'd like to be here when you open it, I think its waited long enough to get to you. 
> 
> We still haven't talked about the past much, so I really don't know, but I assumed, since you never asked, that you knew Aunt Jane had died. She's been gone since shortly after you were lost in Peru. She left this for you and I kept it for you. When you were lost, I never really believed you were dead. 
> 
> I've never opened it, but if it's anything like the one she left for me, it'll bring back memories. Good ones. From before. When I get back, I hope we can compare notes. I think it's time we talked about the past, so we can let it go for good. 
> 
> Stephen

Blair came bounding up the stairs, let himself in, and tossed his keys  
into the basket. He started to ask Jim if there was time for him to take  
a quick shower before dinner, when he realized that there was nothing cooking  
in the kitchen and Jim was sitting on the couch, crumpled note in hand,  
staring at a large box on the coffee table.

Blair pushed his wet hair back and asked, "Hey, Jim. Is something wrong?" 

"No, Chief. Nothing's wrong. Perfect end to a perfect day." Jim sounded tired, almost defeated, as he handed Stephen's note to Blair. 

Blair wiped his damp hand on his slightly less damp shirt before taking and reading the note. "Do you want me to leave so you can have some privacy to open it? I can go back to my office, or just shut the door to my room." 

"I appreciate the offer, Chief, but it's not necessary. I'm not ready to open it yet. I better go start dinner. I hope steak and salad's okay with you." 

"Sure, man. That's fine. Want some help?" 

"Thanks. You can put the salad together, if you want, and maybe make some of that special dressing. I really like that." Jim looked at Blair for the first time since he came into the loft and realized that it must still be raining, and quite heavily given Blair's current level of saturation. "On second thought, why don't you go take a quick shower and get warm. You can help when you get back." 

Blair kept it light while they made dinner and ate, telling stories about his day, designed to make Jim laugh, but he didn't. Jim was quiet and unresponsive, though he tried to keep up his end of the conversation. After cleaning up the kitchen, Blair headed toward his room, pretending to be tired. 

"Stay." 

Blair came back into the livingroom and sat on the couch beside Jim. "Are you sure you want me here for this, Jim? I don't want to push or anything." 

"I know that, Chief. I appreciate you being here. There's not much about my childhood that I want to remember." Jim cut the twine that was tied around the box, removed the brown paper and sliced through the tape that sealed the box. "Aunt Jane always did know how to wrap a package so it was snoop-proof." 

Taking a deep breath, Jim opened the flap. On top was a manila envelope with his name written on it. He removed the envelope and settled back on the couch to open it. 

> Jamie
> 
> I'm sorry. I should have known better. Did he ever tell you why you couldn't come visit me anymore? Probably not. I knew how unhappy you were, how much you dreaded the thought of going home with him. I tried to convince him to let you and Stephen live with me. I should have known he wouldn't take it very well. I only wanted to give you a home and I ended up exiling you from the one place you could escape to. I'm terribly sorry, Jamie. 
> 
> But, it's too late now. Much too late for excuses or to try and make amends. As I write this, I don't even know if you're still alive to read it. I live in hope. I don't have much longer and there are some things you need to know. 
> 
> Your mother loved you, Jamie. Never doubt that. When she married him, she even loved your father, but he was a hard man. I can say that, he was my brother and he was always a hard one to love. Over the years, it got harder and harder for your mother to love him, until his attitude and behavior finally killed it all. Now, Jamie, don't think badly of her, she needed someone to love her back, not as a mother, but as a woman. Given a choice she would never have left you, but your father found out and didn't give her a choice. Jamie, I don't know if you're ready for this, but the 'other man' in your mother's life was a woman. I think that's why your father reacted so badly. Not that he would have reacted well under any circumstances, but his insistance on you boys being 'manly' stemmed from this, I think. 
> 
> She didn't want to leave you. She tried to convince your father to let her stay. She would have given up her love for you, but your father would have none of it. The times being what they were, if he had taken her to court, she would have lost custody of you anyway, and she didn't want you to have to go through that. So she left. 
> 
> She kept in touch with me, but I was afraid to let you know. You were just a boy and if your father had ever gotten any hint that I was in contact with her, he would have never let you come visit me again. Since it happened anyway, perhaps I made the wrong choice, but at the time, it was the only choice I could make. I sent her pictures and letters so she'd know what was going on in your lives. She never stopped loving you or missing you. Do you remember how her eyes used to sparkle with laughter and life? When she was forced to leave you, that sparkle died. 
> 
> That last summer you spent with me, that was the year she died. It was just one of those things. A rainy day and a slick road. They died instantly. Knowing that she was gone and there was no way she could come back to rescue you was what prompted my decision to try and keep you. She was very dear to me and I wanted you to be safe, so she could rest easily. Sometimes emotional decisions aren't the best. 
> 
> If I were to try and leave you any words of wisdom, I guess they would be to cherish those you love. If you are fortunate enough to love and be loved, take good care of them. And, as your mother taught me, love knows no gender. Regardless of what your father or any church might have told you, love is never a sin. I don't say this lightly, Jamie. I've thought about it long and hard. One of the benefits of old age is the freedom to speak your mind. 
> 
> I want you to be happy and loved, Jamie. After your mother left, you never laughed. The sparkle that used to be in your eyes died the same time hers did. If I could wish anything for you, it would be that your eyes once again sparkle with life and laughter and that you have someone to share your heart with. 
> 
> And Jamie, never forget, you are loved. You always have been and you always will be. 
> 
> Aunt Jane

By the time he finished the letter, tears were running down Jim's face.  
Fearing his reaction, but not knowing what else to do, Blair pulled Jim  
into his embrace. When he felt Blair's arms close around him, Jim lost  
the last bit of fragile control he was maintaining, and began to cry in  
earnest. He cried for Aunt Jane and his mother, for all the love that he  
had thought lost, the despair of his youth, the anger forced on him by  
his father, the years of separation from his brother, but mostly he cried  
in relief. He had not been unlovable. It was not his fate to turn everyone  
he loved against him. Irrational as it was, that thought had always been  
in the back of his mind, that somehow it was his fault those he loved left  
him or their love turned to hate. But it wasn't true. There was hope.

Despite the propaganda put about by romantic poets, no one can cry forever and, in time, Jim's tears ceased, though snuffling continued until Blair handed him a tissue. He was exhausted, but at peace. Truly at peace within himself, for the first time since his mother left. He settled back on the couch, one arm still firmly around Blair's shoulders, reluctant to lose contact. They sat quietly, sides melded together, Blair's head on Jim's shoulder, listening to the rain dance on the roof and the occasional growl of thunder. 

Finally, Jim stirred. He squeezed Blair's shoulder, before removing his arm. Once more, he reached into the box. This time he removed a leather photo album, the words 'For Jamie' embossed on the cover. Inside, he found his baby pictures, pictures of him with his mother, his brother, Aunt Jane, one picture of his mother with a woman he didn't recognize and pictures of him through the years. The last was of him in his dress uniform. Next, he removed his great-grandparents wedding portrait in its familiar frame. Beneath this was the quilt his grandmother made for his mother that had disappeared so long ago. 

As Jim removed the quilt, a small purple bear fell out of the box. Blair caught it before it could fall to the floor. "Dog! Jim, where did you get this? I had one just like it ...." 

Jim looked at Blair, beloved face surrounded by curls, and suddenly had a vision of a much younger face, with the same bright blue eyes, curls backlit by sunlight, holding that very same purple teddy. He began to smile. 

\-- The end -- 

ladydagger@geocities.com 

Visit Lady Dagger's Web Site at:  <http://www.geocities.com/~ladydagger/>


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